Blood and Water in the Streets
by localjuggernaut
Summary: Zoey is used to the infection, but when moral questions start presenting themselves, she can't help but wonder if the path is as straight as she imagines. Maybe Bill can enlighten her, even just a little.


_Water._

_Clean water._

Zoey dipped her cupped hands into the pool of iridescent, icy water and drew out a double-handful. It felt wonderfully cool and clean against her filthy, dirt-ridden palms. Each little drop seemed precious. It was so hard to find enough clean water in the polluted streets.

It had been a long time since the pipe systems in the cities had been overrun with the mindless creatures. Zoey did not know why it was that they took to the sewers; maybe it was because it was cold and dark and damp – away from the sunlight that still sometimes penetrated the smoky sky. It was rare for them to be on the surface in brilliant daylight, so it was a shame that the sun hid its golden face so frequently these days.

They had left the sun for dead long ago now.

Zoey arched her neck and let the fresh water run down her nape and onto her back, leaving streaks in the dirt-brown of the soot and earth that covered her skin. It was cold and made her shiver, but it was the closest thing she'd had to a wash in a long time.

The barrel of water looked mildly out of place in the modern street, like it was something out of a twisted fairytale. The dull yellow-orange light from the broken streetlamps barely lit anything, preferring to keep the light to themselves and wallow in misfortune, most likely the chosen path of the residents before they had been infected or killed. The barrel of water stood alone by a low window. It was the perfect height to just simply reach out and scoop some water into a jar or a mug. It made sense. The residents wouldn't have wanted to leave the houses after the warning signals had been sent out.

The barrel itself was half-empty. They had obviously used it for a while.

Zoey splashed a couple more handfuls of crystalline water onto her face and drank even more. The little splashes of water hopped all around like circus fleas, leaving behind pools of clear blood where they landed. The dry ground was soon littered with dark specs. Zoey assumed they would evaporate quickly in the heavy heat.

It really was scorching for a dry summer. She wasn't sure where they were – the metal signpost on the main road had been vandalised, possibly by scavenging teeth. The weight of the gasses leaking from every building seemed to literally suppress and it was a nightmare on ground level. The buildings weren't so bad, despite being virtually destroyed and mostly impassable, they were solid and kept out much of the smoke. However, these hollow hallways of left-over destruction were usually ridden with the infected, whose barren and empty brethren seemed to have spread to every corner of the city and beyond. Those who were immune were long gone.

Zoey inched her head a little to the right and washed one ear, swilling out the mud properly before starting on the other. It was a fascinating process to see the grime disappear and she gradually grew into a rhythm. She was careful not to allow the dirty water to mix with the fresh, although she suddenly doubted that it was particularly clean anyway.

She passed a final hand over her brow and whipped her pistols out of their holsters in a quick practice motion, studying the way the guns rose to meet their target like obedient animals.

"Careful, girl. This ain't no game, y'know."

Zoey whipped around and found both guns pointing directly at a wise, hardened face. Bill's eyes were gaunt with the sights of war and desolation; his beard was matted and filthy. The man was still dressed in his old green top and trousers, the outfit completed with a pair of heavy boots, which made Zoey vaguely wonder just how many had felt the sheer weight of them break their nose like a nutshell. Abashed, Zoey quickly checked herself and stowed her guns away.

Bill nodded his approval and sat heavily on an upturned crate, flicking out a lighter to ignite the cheap tobacco cigarette perched on his withered lips.

Zoey hesitated a second and joined him, sitting about a foot away and staring between her knees at the dry concrete. It was surprising that the basic rules of society and personal space still applied in a world ridden with hate and mistrust. These were the people who survived by keeping together and fighting as one, yet here they were, both lost in their own continents, a lifetime of years between them.

"You…" Zoey began, glancing at the trail of smoke curling to join the rest in the polluted atmosphere. "You could get… better ones, you know. From any shop. All you have to do is break down the door and take them."

Bill grunted amiably. "I prefer these," he said, taking the cigarette and studying it before popping it back into his mouth and taking a puff.

Zoey almost asked for one, then checked herself again. It was strange how she behaved in the company of another human; how the boundaries were still there. Besides, Zoey still had her morals. She never once wanted to start and she was sure she would regret it if she did, despite the threat of death hanging around every dark corner.

The infection had changed Zoey, forcing her to become more mature very quickly: it gave her priorities and the raw need to survive. Her human instincts had become more predominant, and the pull of the thought of behaving in the same way as her superior, had almost been too great. Fortunately, her values had stepped in at the last moment.

Bill leaned back against the wall the crate was pressed against and sighed. He was old, there was no doubt about it, though the way he moved portrayed an almost vivacious man. He was quick in his reactions, and his training as a soldier kept him fit and unafraid to pull the trigger.

Zoey scratched her neck, the back still slightly damp.

"It's right to kill them, isn't it?"

The old man sat up and eyed the girl as if he'd only just seen her. He was clearly shocked.

"Dang it," he breathed past his cigarette. "Of course. We gotta kill them to get out, haven't we? They ain't gonna help us if we don't."

"They're still people," Zoey said. She wasn't sure if she should be defending the hoards of mindless scavengers who roamed the barren streets, but she did anyway, and she wasn't sure who or what had started it, or even if it had a source at all, but she had seen them alone and stationary, moping against cold walls as though the bricks could offer some form of consolation.

"It's the only way to cure them, now," Bill offered. He had never really spoken to the teen, keeping his distance like all acquaintances tend to do at first.

Zoey rubbed the tips of her clean fingertips together, but said nothing. Was there a point? There was no denying that the wretched creatures were doomed to a life, if it could even be called that, of solitude, contained within the unforgiving bars of piles upon piles of torment, stacked like gold - their treasure, their only comfort. There was nothing anyone could do for them now.

A dreadful silence fell, obscuring the two and making the world seem filthier than it had been before.

The others soon joined Zoey and Bill. The lengthy silence of doubt between the two finally broke, and they were able to continue planning strategies as normal. It was a relief to escape the awkwardness of confined quiet, each lost in their own thought and fully conscious of the other. It wasn't like that for the infected. They were their own silence, their own awkwardness, and the promise of a new land with clean water and fresh food could never even penetrate the desolate thoughts. It was the hope that kept the sullen team going, through the hardest scavenges with limited resources. It kept them together; kept them fighting. Ultimately, Zoey wondered whether this was right, but the hope that drove them to the point where they were able to kill drowned it out, and they kept pushing onwards to a time where they could wash away their memories and begin again. Like something out of a fairytale.

_And there would be clean water every day._

**oOo**

_Acknowledgements:_

Special huge thank you to **The Spazzinator** and **The Paper Crocodile** for beta-reading this short story for me. I really appreciate the constructive criticism, and I hope that you will consider them to do the same for you. Both are extremely capable betas and I appreciate their support.

_Left 4 Dead, Zoey and Bill_ are all copyright _Valve_. I do not claim them in any way, and I am not disregarding their characters through this piece of fiction. None of the events or characters are meant as derogatory or actually happened. This is entirely fictional.

Thank you! I hope you enjoyed reading. x Local


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